Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Resurrection
by Libertas
Summary: Set in Harry's fifth year. (DISCONTINUED.)
1. At Godric's Hollow

**Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix**

Disclaimer : Harry Potter and all the other stuff made up about him belongs to JK Rowling. I own nothing except the plot and idea of this fanfic.

A/N : I'm trying to make the story sound as Rowling-style-like as possible. If you think this story is stupid, nonsense, etc. etc. etc., flame away. However, constructive criticism is better than insults, both for me and for you, because then I would know how to improve my future fanfics/stories, and you would be reading more decent stories written by me. 

**Chapter 1 : At Godric's Hollow**

'Lily, take Harry and leave _now_!' 

            Lily Potter clutched onto her one-year-old son tightly, and shook her head with much resolution. 'No,' she said firmly. 'What will happen to you?'

            James Potter, his right hand pointing his wand at the Dark Lord, reached his other hand back out, as though trying to push his wife away. 'It doesn't matter!' he snarled. 'Your safety is more important – yours and Harry's… Now _go_!'

            The Dark Lord, Voldemort, was cackling malevolently. He pointed his wand at James, so that its tip almost touched James'. 'I'm sorry,' he said in a cold, high voice, sneering in mock sympathy. 'I didn't realize now isn't a good time to come and visit the Potters.'

            James stared at Voldemort angrily. If Voldemort was going to kill him, he wasn't going to let that old geezer make fun of him first. He gripped his wand tightly, ready to mutter a hex, but he was apparently too late.

            '_Avada Kedavra_,' Voldemort said, so softly that it was almost a whisper. It didn't matter how loud he said it, though. Immediately, a stream of green light burst forth from his wand, followed by a loud rushing sound, as though suddenly there was a gale coming.

            A split second later, James was lying in a heap on the floor, completely lifeless.

            Lily was clearly horrified. She groped around, trying to find her wand, and holding onto her baby at the same time. All the while she kept her green eyes, mingled with fury and fear, fixed on the wizard that had just murdered her husband. 'You'll never take Harry,' she muttered. 

            Voldemort took no heed of her. He cast a quick spell which threw her down onto the floor, causing her to drop the bundle that was wrapped around her baby son. Voldemort, smiling triumphantly, advanced upon Harry, who was now crying helplessly.

            '_NO_!' Lily cried. She got up and threw herself down in front of her child, trying to shield him. She finally found her wand on the floor, and pointed it at Voldemort, her hand trembling uncontrollably.

            Voldemort's expression tightened. 'Move aside,' he said shortly.

            'No,' Lily was sobbing now, 'you can kill me instead, just don't touch my son…'

            'I have no use of you,' Voldemort replied cruelly, and tried to wrestle her aside with brute physical force, but Lily wouldn't budge. She knew that if she couldn't protect her child, Voldemort would kill him, and the Dark Lord would rise to even greater power. Finally, frustrated, Voldemort pointed his wand at Lily and muttered the killing curse.

            The room was illuminated in green light, and once more, the rushing sound was heard.

Lily screamed. The cry became louder and higher, and suddenly it sounded like a bird's. The vision of Godric's Hollow, Voldemort, the little boy and his less-than-alive parents evaporated, and suddenly a large bird came into view. It was at least as big as a swan, with striking red and gold plumage and flashing, beady yellow eyes. It let out another cry, and suddenly shrivelled up, its feathers turning to fire, burning the rest of it. Suddenly, it was no longer a magnificent bird, but a mere clump of ashes.

And then, just as suddenly, Godric's Hollow came back. James Potter was still there, lying on the floor, Voldemort was there, the little boy was there, and Lily was there, her head hanging limply from her neck; she was now as dead as James was. Voldemort muttered something that sounded very much like 'Mudblood' and then turned towards Harry.

            '_Avada Kedavra_,' Voldemort said. Again, his wand produced the same green light although this time, it hit the infant's forehead, but seemed to bounce off. 

            'What is this?!' the wizard looked at the jet of green light in horror, now directed towards him. It hit him within less than half a second, and he cried out in pain and defeat; louder and louder and louder and…

            'AAAAAHHH!!!' Harry Potter woke up with a burning pain in his scar, screaming. 


	2. No 4 Privet Drive

**Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (cont'd)**

**A/N** : Thanks so much to the (very few) people that bothered to review the first chapter… I was expecting none at all! Thanks so much Elluxion, and J.R. Ross…you really encouraged me to work on this next chapter. It's a pretty long chapter, and hopefully I didn't rant so much that you'll be bored to death. I was planning to make it even longer, but later decided to turn the second part into another chapter on its own. Hope you'll enjoy reading this!

**Chapter 2 : No. 4 Privet Drive**

Harry quickly stopped himself, and glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table. 6:34 AM. Uncle Vernon would roast him alive if he woke the Dursleys at the crack of dawn. Still breathing hard, he kept very quiet and listened for any sound. Dudley's steady snoring could be heard, and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. If Dudley, who slept at the bedroom next to Harry's, hadn't been woken up by his scream, his aunt and uncle certainly hadn't. 

            He turned his attention back to his dream instead, recalling all the details. It wasn't hard – he had, in a way, seen it several times before, though in a form of short visions, for the past few years. In fact, it was just a memory of what had happened that night about fourteen years ago – Lord Voldemort, a very powerful Dark wizard, had      slain both Harry's parents who happened to be standing in his way to murder Harry himself. Then he had turned his wand upon Harry, a little one-year-old infant then, cast the killing curse, only to have it rebounded upon Voldemort himself. Harry had survived with nothing more than a lightning-shaped scar, Voldemort had been turned into something barely alive, and Harry had become well-known in the wizard world as 'the Dark Lord's downfall'.

            But that wasn't exactly the happy ending of a whimsical fairy tale. Lord Voldemort had returned, a few months ago, regaining his old body, powers and followers – the Death Eaters. Harry barely escaped Lord Voldemort's wrath then, although the little incident certainly left an unseen mark deeper than even a curse scar can possibly go. One of Harry's schoolmates had been murdered that same night – and Harry was left with an inevitable twinge of guilt. Somehow, he had the feeling that if he had just surrendered himself to Voldemort, no one else would have been hurt… 

            Harry shook the thought out of his mind, trying to forget what had happened, to look ahead instead. But it isn't easy to think properly when someone close to you has just died, and just to make things worse, you feel guilty for it. So he scrambled out of bed, walked the length of the room in two strides towards the window, and looked outside.

            It was still dark; the moon could be seen shining faintly and several stars were still twinkling. The orange streetlights cast strange shadows on the pavement and the narrow road in front of the neat row of identical houses. There was no one to be seen – apparently, no one else had been woken up by a strange dream or a twinge on their forehead. 

            _Crack._ A tree branch snapped. Harry felt a sudden sense of insecurity, and looked more carefully. He wasn't the only one that was awake at that time – there was definitely a dark figure moving around the small clump of trees in front of old Mrs Figg's house. Harry grabbed his glasses from the desk next to him where he had left them last night, put them on and looked out once more. 

            The figure had walked into the driveway of No. 4 Privet Drive, looking around rather nervously. With the help of a streetlight nearby, Harry could see that it was a man. There was a soft _clunk_ with his every other step, and his long mane of grey grizzled hair shook every time he turned about. Harry could tell who it was immediately, before even seeing his mutilated nose and magical eye – Mad-Eye Moody. There was no mistaking of that bent figure with the wooden leg and grey hair. 

            As Moody turned to look up in Harry's way, Harry smiled and waved at him. Harry never knew Moody personally, but he felt that it was good to acknowledge someone of 'Harry's kind', an ex-Auror (Dark-wizard catcher) in fact.

            For Harry was a wizard, he had found out so on his fateful eleventh birthday, when he got a letter of acceptance from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had kept the secret from him for eleven years, but there was no point telling Harry now that his parents had died in a car crash, or that his scar was simply a minor injury he had gotten from the accident. He felt closer to the wizarding world than ever now; it was where he had friends, where he belonged, and more importantly, where he had a place of acceptance. Thanks to Aunt Petunia's vicious gossiping and Dudley's bullying, practically all the Muggles (non-magic people) in the area didn't like Harry, or at least, wanted nothing to do with him; they all seemed to think that he was a disturbed child, or a weirdo. 

            Moody focused both his normal eye and magical rolling eye on Harry, as though scrutinizing him closely. After a doubtful moment, he waved back, though rather hesitantly. Harry chuckled softly to himself – after years of hunting Dark wizards and probably not having very good experiences of doing it, Moody had grown ridiculously suspicious of any gesture from anyone, even if it was just an innocent wave or handshake. However, he still remained the most respectable Auror yet, and a lot of people who didn't mind his paranoia greatly respected him; Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, was one of those people, and he certainly was a respectable wizard himself.

            Still keeping a suspicious eye in Harry's direction, Moody walked away, his cloak swishing behind him. Harry looked away from the window, finding nothing else interesting or distracting enough to look at, and his eyes rested on a letter which he had gotten from his godfather a few days ago. 

It was a rather grim letter, telling Harry to be careful and not to wander off, reminding him of a few useful hexes and counter-curses, 'in case anyone tries to harm you'. Sirius was not the only one who had been particularly edgy after Voldemort's return; Dumbledore had sent a short letter to the Dursleys a while ago, telling them briefly about Voldemort, advising them to take better care of Harry and keep an eye for anything suspicious going on. Harry was sure they would have done neither of those things, if Dumbledore had not added in a few lines below that they might be in danger as well. Since then, the Dursleys had been exceptionally civil towards Harry, and they refused to let Harry out of the house, although it was probably because they felt he was the only one in the house who could do some hocus-pocus to drive the Dark wizard away. 

That was when Harry wondered whether he should tell Sirius about what had just happened. When the same thing had happened last summer, he had told Sirius about it (who had been in a journey to the south at that time), and Sirius had been so concerned that he immediately turned back to the north. Harry wondered if he should risk making Sirius delay his business – Dumbledore had undoubtedly given him something important to do after Voldemort's rise back to power. 

After debating about it inside his head for a while, Harry decided that there was no point in telling anyone about his dream, or about his scar hurting. After all, the last time his scar hurt, it was because Voldemort was about to return, and feeling particularly murderous. But Voldemort _had_ risen back to power now, so there was no need to worry about that, and after Harry escaped from him for the fourth time in a row, he probably had been feeling particularly murderous all summer, so it only made sense that Harry's scar hurt, as a little reminder perhaps.

And as for his dream – well, it had happened already after all, and it couldn't possibly happen again. Telling someone about the dream would be like telling them how Voldemort murdered his parents, which would be overly dramatic, and most of the people who were close to him already knew it down to the details anyway…so there was no point in telling.

Except for the phoenix part…now where had _that_ come from? There had definitely been no phoenix at the scene of his parents' murder…no other living thing other than Voldemort, James and Lily Potter and Harry himself. He tried to figure out what it meant, what the vision of the phoenix meant; but it just seemed to add more confusions to his brain, so he let it go, and decided that he would tell his friend, Hermione Granger (who was exceptionally intellectual) the next time he saw her.

His attention wandered over to the trunk lying open on the floor next to the desk. It was packed with several black robes and stacks of thick books which he had been using in Hogwarts in his fourth year. Underneath the books was the Invisibility Cloak which he had inherited from his father, and his Sneakoscope – a useful device used to detect people who couldn't be trusted. 

            Harry decided that he was in serious need of a bit of fun, and took out the Sneakoscope from under the piles of books. The moment he set it on the floor, it began spinning and wailing loudly, and Harry had to grab it in his hands to muffle it, in fear that the Dursleys would wake up, though he was smiling to himself the whole time – he didn't need the Sneakoscope to know that the Dursleys weren't exactly the most trustworthy people in the world.

**A/N** : So what did you think about it? Do you like it? Do you hate it, or think it's too short/long? Please submit your comments, flames, whatever, or I won't know how to write the later chapters… I'm in serious need of some constructive criticism, and I'll try my best to respond to any of your criticism… so…pretty please?? *points to 'Submit Review'*   


	3. Dudley

**Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Resurrection (cont'd)**

**A/N** : Changed title, due to plot change. I'm too lazy to change the titles on chapter 1 & 2, so forgive me. I, um, forgot to put the disclaimer on chapter 2, I'm so sorry, oh great FanFiction.Net mods, and to JK Rowling too…so I'll put a double disclaimer this time to make up for it.

Sorry to those who think that chapter 2 was very boring, but if you want to read my fanfics, you'll have to put up with some ranting. I just can't help doing it sometimes.

And finally, thanks to those who reviewed! They're : Silvertongue, Elluxion, J.R. Ross and one anonymous person. Thanks!!

**Disclaimer** : All the Harry Potter characters and other HP-related stuff belong to JK Rowling. I own nothing but the plot. If you're writing a HP fanfic, and your plot is similar to mine, please do not accuse me of copying you…in fact I've changed my main plot just so people wouldn't think that I'm copying them, and I can't afford to change anymore. Thanks for understanding.

**Disclaimer** : All the Harry Potter characters and other HP-related stuff belong to JK Rowling. I own nothing but the plot. If you're writing a HP fanfic, and your plot is similar to mine, please do not accuse me of copying you…in fact I've changed my main plot just so people wouldn't think that I'm copying them, and I can't afford to change anymore. Thanks for understanding.

**Chapter 3 : Dudley**

It turned out that Harry was too late, and the Sneakoscope had woken up the Dursleys before he could manage to muffle it. Uncle Vernon was outraged, of course, although his fear of Sirius kept him from grounding Harry or locking him in the cupboard under the stairs. Instead, he just told Harry to never do the same thing again, and Harry smiled secretly to himself, feeling relieved.

            Since it was already seven by the time they woke up, the Dursleys grudgingly decided to have breakfast instead of going back to sleep. Dudley looked as though he was going to have a tantrum, but surprisingly he kept quiet. Harry wondered whether it was a sign of late maturity, although it was more likely that Dudley was simply too hungry to complain much. He had been much quieter than he had been last summer, for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had long given up on Dudley's diet, so he could now eat freely. And since his school uniforms had grown far too small for him, Aunt Petunia had resorted to sewing extremely large knick boxers specially for Dudley's need. 

To Harry's great surprise, Aunt Petunia told him to go wait at the table with Dudley and Uncle Vernon while she did breakfast for all of them. Usually, Harry had to do the eggs – not a very wise move, because he severely lacked cooking skills. 

            Harry realized all too soon, though, that some things just never change. As usual, breakfast consisted of several strips of limp bacon, runny eggs, and a glass of cold milk. And as usual, Harry's portion was much smaller than Dudley's, his bacon was much thinner, his eggs runnier, and his milk had long gone past its expiry date. However, as usual, he ate without complaint, very much treasuring the Dursleys' hard-earned civility.

            He noticed something strange during breakfast that morning, though. It felt as though something had gone missing in the Dursleys' routine life. Something had changed, something was wrong – Dudley. 

            His obese cousin wasn't gobbling his food as usual – far from it. In fact, Dudley wasn't touching his meal at all. He was staring at it; his eyebrows creased, his face fixed in a tight frown. In any other person's case, it would have made the person look like a deep thinker, but in Dudley's case, it made him look like he was having constipation, or so Harry thought. 

And then, slowly, as though with much resolution, Dudley pushed his plate away, and reached his large hand into the fruit bowl, grabbing a banana. And he sat there, peeling it gingerly, taking small nibbles out of it.

            Harry stared at him in disbelief, along with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, barely noticing that he was sprinkling pepper into his glass of milk instead of on his eggs.

            Once he was finished with the banana, Dudley got up from the table, mumbled, 'I'm full,' and ran upstairs to his room. Uncle Vernon's eyes followed Dudley's steps, then rested on Harry. Harry looked down on his eggs (rather surprised that there wasn't any pepper on them), fully aware of his aunt and uncle's accusing stares.

            'Boy! What did you do?' Uncle Vernon snarled.

            Harry looked up, trying his best to look innocent. 'I swear I didn't do anything. You know I'm not supposed to use magic during the holidays.'

            Aunt Petunia gasped, clasping both hands to her ears, muttering 'I didn't hear anything' several times to herself. Then she ran upstairs, probably to go after Dudley, her hands fixed firmly on her ears. Uncle Vernon's face had gone livid, the whites around the pupils in his eyes clearly showing, and Harry knew that he had said something wrong.

            'I'm warning you, _one more funny word and I'll_…' Uncle Vernon's words faltered.

            'You'll…what?' Harry asked, enjoying the look of frustration on his uncle's face.

            Uncle Vernon's face turned beet red, and Harry could almost imagine smoke coming out of his ears. He managed a grunt in reply, and left the table as well. 

            Pleased with himself, Harry finished his breakfast and even stole one strip of Dudley's fat, untouched bacon. Satisfied, he took a gulp of his milk and almost immediately spurted it out of his mouth.

            'Eugh,' he muttered to himself, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his (or rather, Dudley's) baggy shirt. He poured the sour-and-spicy milk down the kitchen sink, wondering how long exactly it had been sitting in the refrigerator before he was lucky enough to have to drink it. 

~***~

The rest of the morning didn't go very well, as Harry suspected. His aunt and uncle stared down at him accusingly every time he passed by them in the staircase, or the living room, so he stayed in his bedroom most of the time, reading _Quidditch Throughout The Ages_, watching the players in it zoom around on broomsticks while throwing a red ball to each other. He kept lifting his eyes from the book every now and then, staring longingly at his Firebolt, tucked away safely in his trunk. There was no use in thinking about Quidditch if he couldn't even play it, it simply made him wish more and more that he was out in the Hogwarts grounds, practising with the rest of his team. 

            However, unfortunately, it was only late July, and there was still about a month to go before he would be returning to Hogwarts – a whole torturous month with the Dursleys. 

            Sighing, he put aside _Quidditch Throughout The Ages_ and walked over to the window to look outside. As usual, there was nothing much going on. Not many people were up and about that lazy Saturday morning. The late morning sun was glaring down, the sky was clear. A typical morning, nothing different. Then Harry saw something white fluttering down towards him. 

            'Hedwig, you're back!' he called out, as a snowy owl swooped down to his window and perched on his outstretched arm, dropping a dead rat and a piece of parchment onto his other hand. He accepted her little gift gratefully, and she nipped his finger affectionately before rushing into her cage to drink from her water bowl.

            He wasn't very interested in the rat though, and placed it on his desk carelessly. He smoothed out the piece of parchment and began to read the letter. It was from his friend, Ron Weasley.

_Hey Harry,_

_            Hedwig happened to stop by The Burrow while hunting, so I asked her to deliver this letter to you since Pig is so hard to get hold of. The Muggles aren't treating you too badly, are they? We'd love to have you here for the rest of the summer, but Dumbledore told us that you're supposed to be staying somewhere else. I don't know where, but I reckon you'll be pretty well off, unless you're supposed to stay with Snape or something. _

_            You don't have to reply to this letter. I just thought I should tell you that you won't be with us this summer. _

_Ron_

            Harry read and re-read the letter with much disappointment. He had stayed with the Weasleys twice before, and both were probably the best summers he had ever had. He didn't think anywhere else could be better than The Burrow, with the exception of Hogwarts. The Weasleys were more like family to him than the Dursleys could ever be.

Feeling considerably worse than before, he hid the letter under the handy loose floorboard next to his bed. The hole was currently quite empty, except for a scroll of parchment which was his Transfiguration essay.

            Unable to find anything else useful to do, he decided to finish up his homework (Write, in no less than 1500 words, the risks and complications of transforming oneself into an inanimate object). He was about to grab his quill and bottle of ink from his trunk, when, suddenly, he heard a knock on his bedroom door. 

            The sound took a while for him to recognize. No one in the Dursley household ever _knocked_ before entering his bedroom. Dudley would usually just burst right in to grab something from his old collection of broken toys, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never went in at all. 

            'Come in,' Harry said, rather warily. The door opened little by little, slowly revealing his cousin, Dudley. Harry stared at the unexpected visitor, his eyebrows raised.

            'Sorry,' Dudley said. 'I didn't mean to disturb.'

            'No, it's ok,' the words came out of Harry's mouth before he realized what he was saying.

            'Um, I was just wondering…' Dudley mumbled, his words gradually getting softer.

            Harry looked at him expectantly to show that he was listening.

            'How did you get so skinny?' the words were almost inaudible, but Harry heard it all right, and he froze, numb with shock.

            There was silence for a few seconds. 'Well,' Harry finally began, but his cousin interrupted him.

            'I mean – I tried, I tried all kinds of ways. I tried to cut down on my between-meals snacks, and I didn't even touch my breakfast this morning,' Dudley looked genuinely depressed, 'but nothing works. I'm still – _fat._ The girls at school don't even dare go near me.'

            Harry fought hard not to chortle. He wanted to say something mean, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He actually almost felt _sorry_ for Dudley. But before he could utter a word, someone called him.

            'POTTER! SOMEONE WANTS TO SEE YOU!'

            It was undoubtedly Uncle Vernon. Harry managed a quick 'sorry, gotta go' to Dudley, left his room and ran down the stairs, wondering who actually bothered to see him.

            As he reached the foot of the stairs, he saw who his visitor was – his old neighbour, Mrs Figg. She was beaming at him – something that she had never done before. Uncle Vernon was in the living room, barely acknowledging the presence of Mrs Figg and holding up the newspaper to block his view of Harry. Aunt Petunia was busy putting out some biscuits and a cup of tea, eager to impress the guest as usual.

            'Well, got your trunk ready, Harry?' Mrs Figg asked, still smiling. Then, seeing Harry's bewildered expression, she added, 'Haven't your aunt and uncle told you? You'll be staying with me for the rest of the summer. I'll be taking you to Diagon Alley to get your supplies and to King's Cross Station on September the first.'

            Uncle Vernon grunted once, as though saying, 'That's right, so good riddance.' Harry simply stared at the elderly woman in disbelief. Since when was she so happy to have Harry stay with her? How did she know about Diagon Alley anyway, was she a –

            'Go on, Harry, get your trunk,' Mrs Figg said, interrupting his train of thoughts. 'We don't have all day.' 

            Almost robotically, he quickly went upstairs to pack, and came back down in less than five minutes with his trunk, cauldron and Hedwig's cage at his side. Aunt Petunia looked at these things disapprovingly, Uncle Vernon held the paper even closer to his face and Hedwig kept trying to grab a biscuit on the table with her beak.

            'Come on then, Harry,' Mrs Figg walked towards him, and helped him with his trunk. 'I'll have just one biscuit, thank you,' she said, taking a biscuit from the table and nodding to Aunt Petunia politely, 'but no tea. We must be going.' And with that she half-dragged Harry to the front door. 

            'Well, bye,' Harry said uncertainly to no one in particular. Uncle Vernon grunted, Aunt Petunia forced a curt smile at him, and Dudley was nowhere to be seen. Probably still upstairs moaning about his weight. 

            Mrs Figg and Harry stepped out of the house, closed the front door, and Harry breathed the outside air. It had been weeks since he had last been out of the confines of the house. He looked up at the wrinkled face of the old woman next to her, and saw a tinge of kindness shining through her eyes that he had never seen before. Mrs Figg looked back at him, smiling benignly, and he thought that this summer might not be as bad as he thought after all.


	4. Missing Pieces

**Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Resurrection (cont'd)**

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any of J.K. Rowlings's stuff. Only the plot belongs to me. Heh.

**A/N :** Sorry for the very long wait… I don't expect a lot of reviews this time, I suppose everyone would have forgotten about my fic. ^___~;  It's quite long, but try reading it anyway. I didn't spend practically two months writing it for nothing. Oh, and before I forget, thanks a bunch to everyone who has reviewed so far!! You're all really great! Thanks for all your support, criticism, etc. And I think someone said that he/she likes the new Dudley. (Can't remember who.) Heheh…well, I figured that it's time puberty catches up with him… *grins evilly* 

**Chapter 4 : Missing Pieces**

It was a bright summer's day. The hot sunlight beat down upon them, the heat stinging Harry's neck almost painfully. It was probably because he hadn't gone outside in a long time, but he thought that it was hotter than usual that day. 

'Come on, Harry, we don't have much time on us,' Mrs Figg said, and she began taking longer strides. 

            'What's the hurry?' Harry asked grumpily as he tried to drag his trunk and Hedwig's cage and jog at the same time in order to keep up with her. He couldn't help noticing, even as sweat trickled down his glasses, slightly blurring his vision, that Mrs Figg was holding nothing but her bright red purse.

            'Can't talk.'

            There was a tone of finality in her voice, and they continued their short walk wordlessly. 

            Soon they reached Mrs Figg's house two blocks away, and after a trek through Mrs Figg's miniature jungle of a garden, they finally made it to the front door. It was there that she began searching her purse for her key.

            'Damn key – just can't find it when I most need it – this can't do…' Mrs Figg began to look very worried. Harry, hot and sweating all over, laid down the trunk on the ground and sat down on it. 

            Almost immediately, a red beam of light burst through the door, sending wooden chips and splinters flying everywhere. Harry only ducked just in time, and the red beam grazed past his ear, singeing a few strands of his hair. Mrs Figg let out a shriek of frustration, while Harry could only hope that the tall prickly hedges in the garden were able to block the scene from the view of Muggles. A growling, croaky shout followed.

            'AHA! I KNEW IT!'

            A wizened old wizard burst right through the rest of the door which had remained untouched. Now the whole thing came off the hinges and dropped onto the doorstep with an almighty crash. From the bulging electric blue eyeball (now staring pointedly at Harry) and the wooden clawed leg, Harry was able to tell that it was Moody.

            'Alastor, not _again_,' Mrs Figg said wearily. 'This must be the _fourteenth_ time this week.'

            Moody completely ignored her, and pointed his wand at Harry. Harry, taken aback, leaned backwards and almost fell over. 

            'I knew it,' he repeated, but his voice was low and breathless now. 'For nearly fourteen years Mad-Eye Moody hasn't caught a single Dark wizard red-handed, but look at him now. He's _blooming_.'

            Harry braved himself enough to say, 'Uh…and why is that?'

            Moody scrutinised him closely, as though trying to see if he was trying to be funny. 'Because I just caught _you_ in the act, _that's bloody damned why_!'

            Harry fixed a sincerely bewildered look on his face. 'But I didn't do _anything_! And I'm _not_ a Dark wizard!'

            'Alastor –' Mrs Figg interrupted, but Moody silenced her at once.

            'Arabella, I'll take care of this –'

            'Alastor –'

            '– this wretched scoundrel put a Confundus Charm on you, that's what he did…made you all confused and mixed up –'

'_Alastor_ –'

            '– made you bring him to the house, so he can ransack it and kill us both!'

            '_ALASTOR –'_

            'But guess _what_, sonny, it looks like you won't be going anywhere – anywhere except Azkaban, that is…'

            '_ALASTOR!_'

            Both Harry and Moody jumped. 'What?' Moody asked, looking annoyed.

            Mrs Figg pulled Harry to his feet and put an arm around him (Moody gasped, 'It's worse than I thought!'), making Harry feel rather like a frail kitten being protected by his mother. 'Now _you_ listen here, Alastor…this boy is _Harry Potter_.'

            There was a short silence in which Mrs Figg stared at Moody sternly, while Moody gaped, showing several gaps in between the yellowing teeth. Harry pulled back his fringe slightly, revealing his thin scar, and grinned weakly. 

            '_Walloping warlocks_,' Moody said in a hoarse whisper. 'I didn't think I'd live to see The Boy Who Lived himself in person… I'm terribly sorry, Harry, got carried away…'

            'It's okay,' Harry shrugged. 'What about the Muggles though? I mean, I'm sure they must have noticed something?'

            'Nothing to worry about, Harry,' Mrs Figg replied as the three of them stepped over the wreckage and into the house. 'Muggles never notice anything that goes on around here. If they see some magic in action they'll just convince themselves that they're seeing things.' She led Harry to the living room, where she told Harry to make himself comfortable on the sofa. It was old and battered, with occasional springs and strands of wool sticking out at the oddest places. Moody stood at the threshold, grimacing sheepishly to himself while he fixed the door back into place. Mrs Figg went into the kitchen and came back in a short while with a teapot, a plate of cookies and three cups laid out on a tray. 

Harry was still looking doubtful. Apparently, Mrs Figg saw this and she continued, 'The hedges have been bewitched to be sound-proof, so anyone outside can't hear a thing. The house didn't need that extra Muggle-Repelling charm, until this idiot' – she stared pointedly at Moody – 'came to spend the summer here. I think you're the fifth visitor to be nearly blasted into smithereens this week, Harry. Fudge nearly got it the third time, and I believe Mundungus Fletcher is still in St Mungo's after what happened yesterday. Arthur Weasley came just two days ago, and he hasn't come since. Dumbledore also came a few times, but good thing Moody trusts him more than anyone in the world. Of course, there was also Remus Lupin –'

            Harry's eyes widened. 'Lupin? Lupin came here? And what about –' He was on the verge of saying "Sirius", but quickly stopped himself. He didn't know whether Mrs Figg knew that Sirius was innocent, and it wasn't worth taking the risk. He took a cookie, and stared at the television purposefully, vaguely noticing that there was a holly wreath hung on the screen.

            'Sirius?' Mrs Figg smiled. Harry frowned. She was the third person he'd ever met that seemed able to read thoughts. 'He did come, once,' she continued, pouring tea into two cups. 'About three weeks ago. We haven't heard from him lately, but I reckon he must be alerting the rest of the old crowd. It's no easy task, doing the "business" Dumbledore assigned to him and trying to hide from the Ministry at the same time… I suppose it's a good thing that he's got a useful disguise. Who would expect an adorable mutt to be the convicted murderer on the loose?' She smiled even more widely when Harry's jaw dropped open. 

            'How did you know?' he blurted out. 'You're not supposed to know – only Dumbledore and me, and Ron and Hermione –'

            'Well, when he came, I just forced the true story out of him.' Mrs Figg was pouring tea into another cup as Moody had just joined in. He wasn't listening much, though; he seemed rather interested in the television remote control. 'Alastor wasn't helping. He kept throwing suspicious looks at the boy, and he only half-believed the story. Sure, I know Sirius Black was mischievous at your age, Harry – still is, come to think of it – but he's no Dark wizard. James was right to trust him after all, instead of that _rat_, Peter… I _knew_ there was something twitchy about him right from the start…'

            'Now, now, Bella…I was just being cautious, that's all,' Moody defended distractedly, not looking up and prodding the remote control with his wand. He muttered something and a yellow spark burnt a large hole in the plastic.

            'Cautious?' Mrs Figg snorted. 'If you were any more cautious, you'll start cursing your own reflection in the mirror. And don't call me Bella.'

            Moody chose to remain silent. He took a cookie, took a bite out of it (after inspecting it for at least two minutes) and went back to the TV remote control, now lying in disarray. 

            Harry suddenly remembered something. 'You haven't told me yet, Mrs Figg,' he said quickly. 'Why did we have to hurry just now?'

            'Well, Harry, everyone has to be quick on their feet these days,' she replied. 'You never know what could happen if you hang around one street for too long. And you – well, I wanted to make sure that you get here as soon as possible, even if it's just a few minutes' difference. But never mind about that, it doesn't matter now. What matters is that you're here, and you're safe and sound, because no Death Eater can possibly know where you are right now.'

            'Why not?' Harry asked immediately. 'I mean, I'm sure they can get some information about me by blackmailing someone, or they can trace my path since I left King's Cross Station at the end of last term, right?'

            A dark look passed over the old woman's wrinkled face. 'Not unless our secret keeper told,' she said gravely. 'Privet Drive is protected by a very powerful Fidelius Charm, Harry. Dumbledore himself cast it, and as long as the secret keeper keeps his greasy mouth shut, this whole neighbourhood is Unplottable, Untraceable, Unnoticeable, Unpenetratable and Unegressable to any Dark wizard. Furthermore, even if someone like the Dark Lord somehow manages to break the charm, which is impossible, of course, I'll be right here to protect you. Oh, and him too.' She jabbed a long finger at Moody, who jumped and dropped the plastic bits which used to be the TV remote control. 

            Harry's head was now full to the brim with puzzles which all seemed to have several important pieces missing. He never knew how much trouble people like Mrs Figg and Dumbledore had gone through just to keep him safe from Voldemort. He didn't know why everyone had to fuss over him so much – after all, he had escaped Voldmert several times, so he wasn't entirely helpless. 

            'Who is the secret keeper?' he asked. At least if he knew it was someone like Dumbledore, he didn't have to worry about someone else getting in Voldemort's way because of him. 

            Mrs Figg kept silent; her mouth twitched. 'Well, that's not important,' she said quickly. 'I – I'm not sure who it is. All I know is that it's someone we can trust – someone Dumbledore can trust, at least.' She smiled, trying to look reassuring. 

            Far from being reassuring, Harry thought there was something strange about the way she was looking at him – almost _painfully_, as one would look at someone less fortunate. It was hard to decipher what that look meant.

            Mrs Figg's expression changed quickly, however, and in about two seconds she was looking her usual way again. She showed Harry to the spare room and left him by himself for the rest of the afternoon while she and Moody remained downstairs preparing dinner. During dinner, she pressed him for accounts on how Hogwarts was like now and told him about "the old days" in colourful detail, never allowing him to ask the numerous questions on his mind. Harry could only ponder these unsolved mysteries at night – going through all the information he knew over and over in his head, but going nowhere close to finding the answers. 


	5. The Cupboard Under The Stairs

**Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Resurrection**

**A/N : **All right… sorry it took so long. Went through a serious block. It's really sucky, and I know it, don't hesitate to tell me that in a review. And some reviewers said that my previous chapters are too short… Is this long enough for you?

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any of J.K. Rowlings' stuff. All I own is the plot. You must be an idiot if you don't know that, because I've been posting the same thing over and over in my previous chapters. -__-;

**Chapter 5 : The Cupboard Under The Stairs**

Harry relentlessly questioned Mrs Figg over the next few days, but to no avail. It was plain that the old woman simply would not tell him anything, and whenever he posed a trick question on her, she was too careful to let anything slip. Finally, it seemed that she had had enough.

            'Harry, I'm not telling you anything more, and that's final,' she said irritably one day, after five days' dose of Harry's tireless questioning. 'If I've told you once, I've told you a million times: By Dumbledore's orders, I'm not supposed to discuss these things with you.'

            Harry had reluctantly stopped bombarding her with questions after that. It brought back much peace in the little house, and surprisingly he found that he felt much better if he didn't think about these troubles anyway. 

            The rest of July passed without any strange happenings – that is, anything that was even stranger than usual – and Harry soon got used to his new temporary home. He didn't quite _like_ it, perhaps – it wasn't as special or interesting as someplace like Hogwarts – but he somewhat felt at home. The creaking doors, the sunk bed mattress and the hung oil lamps threatening to drop down any time were just a few of the new everyday sights and sounds he experienced. He was beginning to grow attached to this place – he almost dreaded September the first to come too soon.  

Hedwig rather liked the new surroundings. Harry could see why – the Dursleys' house, no matter how neat and clean and prim it was, always seemed hostile to him. On the other hand, Mrs Figg's house, with its chipped walls and doors falling into disrepair, was cosy – homely but homelike, as Harry liked to call it. Besides, Hedwig was allowed to fly indoors – she never got to do that in the Dursleys'. Incidentally, she was smart enough not to relieve herself inside the house. Moody seemed to be growing fond of her.

'Owls are good creatures, they are, but yours is exceptionally smart,' he said to Harry once. 'Alert, them things are, always on the watch. Could do well with one meself.'

The old man was, in fact, interested in a few of Harry's things. He practically squealed with delight when he saw Harry's miniature Sneakoscope that Ron Weasley had bought for him from Egypt, and his normal eye bulged out to be almost as big as the magical one when he saw _The Monster Book of Monsters_, strapped tightly and stuffed at the bottom of the trunk.

'Brilliant,' he muttered to himself, eyeing the rough sharp edges of the book. It turned out that Moody wasn't completely obsessed with fighting the Dark Arts, as Harry thought before. He was also interested in magical creatures, much like Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Harry shuddered to think of the retired Auror as Hagrid's future assistant – goodness knows what the two sadistic minds could think of to bring to class. 

            Mrs Figg, on the other hand, was altogether different from Moody. She was careful, though not to the point of being paranoid, and didn't like having to do with anything morbid. She was a cheery old woman, always coming up with new ideas for decorating the house and strange recipes to cook for dinner. The holly wreath on the TV screen was only one of her latest inspirations. She was already planning to hang Easter eggs by the front door and paint the walls in a black and white cowhide pattern. 

            Forgetting her 'unique' ways, she could also be caring and understanding. She treated Harry like a grandson, but at the same time, she somehow always managed to read his adolescent mind. She knew the right words to say, at the right time, with the right tone. 

            Harry was thoroughly content being in the care of the two eccentric people. He stayed up late at night, no longer questioning things that now seemed to hardly concern him, but wondering whether he had felt the same security and comfort during the one short year he had spent with his parents fourteen years ago.

~***~

In the morning of July the thirty-first, Harry was awakened by an impatient nipping at his ear.

            'What is it, Hedwig?' he muttered sleepily.

            Hedwig hooted persistently and pulled at his ear. At last he gave in, and sat up in his bed. As a usual early morning routine, he groped around for his glasses and put them on. Slowly his hazy vision cleared.

            Hedwig was bearing two small parcels on her legs as well as an envelope in her beak. It seemed that she hadn't just brought mail, though; it looked like she had brought some new friends as well. Behind her were three owls, perched on the windowsill except for one, which was twittering and zooming around the room tirelessly. The hyperactive one was unmistakably Ron Weasley's owl, Pigwidgeon. There was a large barn owl which he didn't recognise, and next to it was an eagle owl, wearing a funny-looking collar which bore the Hogwarts crest. 

            Harry decided to relieve the Hogwarts owl of its burden first – he supposed that it had elsewhere to go, more mail to deliver. Deftly he loosened the envelope from its leg; the owl fluffed up its feathers importantly and tore away into the morning sky. 

            The envelope was a bit heavier than usual. He opened it. Inside were four pieces of parchment, folded up carefully so that each would fit snugly inside the slim envelope. Two of them were the usual Hogwarts letter, reminding him of the new term on September the first, and the book list. He saw that he needed his dress robes for this year yet again, and he couldn't help but groan. He could remember only too clearly how he had struggled to "dance" while Parvati Patil had steered him around the dance floor during the Yule Ball.

            The next piece of parchment was slightly thicker than the normal one. It read:

_Dear Mr H. Potter,_

_            We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to be a Prefect. Election of Prefects was done by the entire Hogwarts Staff during the summer. This is not only a responsibility, but also a great privilege to any student. Please keep this document carefully, as it is very important and will be added to your school records after you graduate. _

_            THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT MR HARRY POTTER HAS BEEN ELECTED A PREFECT. SHOULD ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH PROVE OTHERWISE ARISE, THIS CERTIFICATE IS TO BE SOUGHT FOR EVIDENCE._

_            If you have any violent objections on your election, please approach either the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmistress by the end of the first week of school. _

_Yours truly,  
Minerva McGonagall  
_ _Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School_

            For a moment, Harry just gaped at the parchment, ignoring everything else going on around him. He had been chosen to be a Prefect. _He_ had been chosen to be a _Prefect_. He never expected anything more ironic. It took him some time to get over his shock. By that time, the other owls were already getting impatient, even Pig. 

            Harry was aware of the eyes staring at him expectantly to _hurry it up_, and quickly scanned through the last bit of parchment. It was a note from a fellow Gryffindor Quidditch team player. 

_Hey Harry,_

_            Hope you're enjoying your summer. I don't know if you've ever thought of this before, but we have a slight problem with our team. We lack one player, as well as a captain. An even bigger problem is that all the Chasers and Fred and George are graduating this year. So we decided to have a short meeting on the first day back to talk about this. I wanted to just hold a try-out for the Keeper position and reserves, but Katie insisted on talking it out first. So see you at midnight in the Gryffindor common room on September the 1st._

_Angelina _

Oliver Wood, the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, had graduated from Hogwarts the year before last. Even as he hastily folded the parchments back into the envelope, Harry couldn't help wondering who was going to end up as the captain this year.

            Next Harry walked up to the barn owl, and untied the piece of parchment from its leg. It flapped its wings slightly, and stood still, waiting for Harry to read the letter and write a reply to the sender.

            The parchment was old and tattered. Harry unrolled it and read:

_Dear Harry,_

_            I hope you're enjoying your stay with Mrs Figg and Moody. Mrs Figg used to be my teacher at Hogwarts, and I have to say that she wasn't very fond of me. She should be treating you well, though. You've been keeping an eye out for anything suspicious as I told you to, I hope? You're safe while you're with those two ex-Aurors, but you still have to watch out for yourself._

            _I have much to tell you, but little I can say in a letter. All I can say is that I'm travelling with Hagrid and his new friend out of the country. I'm sure you know why I can't tell you my whereabouts. Just remember that you have enough things to worry about besides my well-being. Who knows, you might even see me sooner than you think, if Dumbledore allows it._

_            It's not a very good idea for you to go out too much this year, Harry. I know you hate this, but you SHOULDN'T GO WANDERING OFF ALONE. You can go anywhere you want – anywhere SAFE – as long as you're with someone else, except if the someone else is someone like a Malfoy. I know I made a few wrong assumptions last year, and so did Dumbledore, but you should know better than to trust anyone connected to the Death Eaters. _

_            And lastly, keep practising those nifty spells and curses you learned for the Triwizard Tournament last year, especially Disarming. You might also want to learn how to fend off the Cruciatus Curse – it's almost entirely impossible, but there is a way, if you seek help from the right person. _

_            Yes, I know that I'm basically repeating what I've been telling you all summer. Yes, I know you're tired of this, and yes, I know you think that these safety measures aren't really necessary. But since James had to get himself murdered and throw all his fatherly responsibilities to me, it's only part of my job as a godfather to tell you all this. Yes, over and over again, if I have to. _

_Keep your eyes open,  
Sirius_

_P.S. Happy Birthday! Enclosed is a little birthday gift. It's quite a useful gadget to have._

Harry unrolled the bottom of the parchment, and out came a small and shiny metallic thing. It was a pin. He didn't see how a little pin could help him with anything, but appreciated the gift anyway. 'You can go,' he said to the barn owl. 'I'll send Hedwig with the reply; I don't feel like writing now anyway.' And with that the owl flew off.

            Harry went forward to unload Hedwig's burden next, but Pig kept circling his head and hooting incessantly, urging him to open his package first. After a slight debate with Hedwig's unappreciative staring eyes, Harry relented and grabbed Pig by the tail-feathers. 

            'You know,' he grumbled as he struggled to remove the small grubby package from Pig's leg, 'if you're really so eager to deliver me my mail, the least you could do is _keep still._' Pig, of course, being an owl and all, did not understand a single word of this, and kept on hooting and twittering up and down excitedly. Finally Harry was able to untie the package and quickly tore off the brown wrapping. 

            It was, as he had suspected, a present from Ron. However, it wasn't anything that he would expect from Ron – it was a book, quite a thick one at that. Silver letterings and fancy twirls around the corners were engraved upon the blue leather-bound book. _1995/1996's Potential O.W.L. Examination Questions And How To Answer Them_, Harry read.

            Of course, Harry thought, wondering why he had been so stupid. For a moment there, he thought Ron had given him a book full of O.W.L. practice exam papers. He gave a soft whoop of delight, thinking of how he could ever repay his friend. With this book, he thought, he wouldn't need to slave over all his schoolbooks – all he had to do was read through this one book, memorise the answers and just pour them all out on the exam day…

            Then something else on the book cover caught his attention. It was a tiny silver button, and below it, written in block letters, was: _IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, PUSH BUTTON. _Harry tried pushing it, and suddenly the button contracted into the book cover along with the engraved book title, as though the gleaming silverish things were drowning in a smooth blue quicksand. Then, a few moments later, the book burped out the title back, but now it read _The Adventures of Barbara Knolls_. When he flipped it open, the book instantly turned back into the model exam answers. 'Brilliant,' he muttered, impressed.

            Harry now opened the book, and a piece of parchment fluttered down onto the floor. On it, in an untidy scribble, was a short note from Ron:

_Hullo Harry,_

_            Happy Birthday! Dad told us all that you're staying with old Mrs Figg. I've met her once before, and she's a tad off her rockers, if you ask me, rather like Dumbledore. Well, you know what, Harry? I think we'll all have to turn bonkers too one day, because it seems like the most trustworthy people in the wizarding world aren't very sensible. _

_            Anyway, I hope you like the book. It's very useful, I've got my own copy. And get this – it updates itself every year, so when you're finished with it you can pass it on to a lucky fifth-year-to-be. I got mine from Fred and George, who got it from Charlie. Bill, Percy and Mum and Dad don't even know of its existence. I thought that you might find it more practical than, say, Potions lessons, so I got you a copy. We'll have to make sure that Hermione doesn't get hold of it, though._

_            I don't know why, but Fred and George have been extra nice to me lately. Just two days ago they bought me a new dress robes, and even invited me to hang out with them and Lee Jordan at Zonko's as a little bonus. I haven't got a clue what it is they want from me._

Harry couldn't help being reminded of the thousand Galleons he had given to the Weasley twins at the end of the last school term. He never regretted his decision to part with the huge sum of money, and now he felt momentarily proud about it as someone else was enjoying so much from it, and that someone else was his best friend. 

            _I'll tell you more about everything, if we meet in Diagon Alley or something. If not, I'll meet you at Platform 9 ¾ and talk to you there. Oh, and if you hear anything important from Snuffles, owl Hermione and me right away!_

_Ron_

            Harry put aside both his new book and the note, then went over to the desk at the corner of the room where a few rolls of parchment lay. He tore off a bit of parchment, and quickly scribbled a note.

_Hey Ron,_

_            Thanks for the book. I think it just saved my life, and my O.W.L. results. Guess what? I've been elected as a Prefect. Can you believe it? Snuffles owled me today. He said that he's out of the country with Hagrid and Madame Maxime, one of last year's Triwizard Tournament judges, in case you've forgotten. I'll tell you more later._

_Harry_

He hastily folded the note, then tied it to Pig's leg, who kept suspiciously still, and later took off without making any loud hoots as he usually did. Perhaps he was in the mood to act civilised. Hedwig, not wanting to wait any longer, flew over to Harry, landed on his shoulder and tugged at him, urging him to quickly open the parcels. 

            'All right, all right, just hold on a while,' he said, quickly securing a dead knot. Pig somehow became hyperactive again, did a couple of somersaults and took off into the late morning.

            Harry untied both parcels from Hedwig's leg, and, having had the burden taken off her, she stumbled over to her cage and perched there, resting. He looked at the two parcels. One was bigger than the other, and the smaller one was not wrapped with the usual grubby brown paper, but with a shiny colourful wrapper. Harry decided to open this one first, and tore off the wrapping carefully.

            As he peeled off the last bit of wrapper, a thin card slipped out. It said:

_Dear Harry,_

_            Happy fifteenth birthday! Hedwig came back at dawn from her night flight, and we decided to leave your present with her while we go to town to get your cake. Hope you enjoy a good year ahead, even with all the Dark things going on right about this time. And we hope you like the present. It never hurts to keep your best weapon in good condition._

_Love,  
Mrs Figg and Mad-Eye_

He couldn't remember the last time he had a birthday party, or even just a short dinner to celebrate his birthday. Perhaps he had had none at all. He had gotten cake for his birthday before, but he never had the chance to share it with anyone. Usually he had to keep it all to himself, as the Dursleys weren't really worth sharing anything with, except misery perhaps.

            Harry shook the thought out of his mind and looked at his present. It was a toolbox, with a large label stuck onto it which said _Wand Servicing Kit_, and below that, a few testimonials (_"The Broomstick Servicing Kit is yesterday's news… now it's time to clean up your wand!" _– Jim Malberry, manager of a cauldron company_; "Wonderfully amazing! One scrub and even the deepest scratch is gone!" _– Monica Dovey, homemaker). He lifted the latch and opened the toolbox. Inside were several brushes in different sizes, files, a bottle of cleaning solution and a tub of wood polish. There was also a small clawhammer which he supposed could be used to dismantle the wand, although he couldn't figure out why anyone would want to do that.  

            He put that aside, and weighed the other parcel in his hand. It was reasonably big and quite heavy. So far, he had received presents from Ron, Sirius and a joint present from Mrs Figg and Moody. That left – Hermione and Hagrid. But Hagrid was away with Sirius, busy running the errand for Dumbledore. It must be from Hermione. Knowing her, Harry thought that it must be a book, and opened the parcel with much less excitement than before.

            The thin brown paper gave way quickly to reveal something shiny inside. As it turned out, Harry was half-right. It _was_ a book, but not the sort of book that he was expecting. The book cover was a blinding metallic violet, and the words (shiny gold lettering plastered over the cover) said: _Knock Knock – A Vast Collection Of Jokes For Anyone, At Anytime, Anywhere_. 

            Hermione. Jokes. The words didn't go too right together. At first Harry was just numb with disbelief, but soon worry washed over him. Maybe Hermione had accidentally knocked her head against something and lost all sense of proper, no-time-for-this-nonsense thoughts. Nevertheless, he opened the book, searching for a card or a note. He found a small card, slipped among the pages, which said:

_Happy Birthday Harry,_

            I assume that you've been STUDYING HARD and SERIOUSLY preparing for your O.W.L.s, so I assume that you must be under stress. That led me to assume that you might like this book, just to lighten your mind when it gets a bit fogged up with all those things we have to learn. Of course my assumptions may be wrong, and knowing you, they most probably are, but I'm sure you'll still like the book anyway. It's worth going over for a few laughs, or at least a cringe or two at some of the really corny jokes. 

_Hermione_

Harry chuckled to himself and wondered whether he was supposed to feel guilty after reading this, and start poring over his books. But it was his birthday, and his O.W.L.s were months away. He couldn't quite find the need to worry so much. 

Dismissing the random thought out of his mind, Harry gathered all his newly-gotten birthday cards and presents, arranged them neatly at the side of his bed and for a few seconds looked at the colourful display. For a moment even the sleepy Hedwig stirred, and glanced at it with an eye half-opened in slight interest. As he went to the bathroom to wash his face, he heard the front door slam shut, and didn't need to hear the cries of "WE'RE HOME!" and "Where's my birthday boy?" to know that Mrs Figg and Moody were back. 

~***~

It was probably the best birthday he had ever had. Mrs Figg conjured up bright neon-coloured streamers and stringed them up against the wall, and lit fifteen candles on his birthday cake in a symmetrical pattern. Moody gladly volunteered to check if any of Harry's presents were hexed (they weren't) before they started the short birthday celebration. 

They started by singing him a birthday song, which wasn't a very pleasant moment. They only stopped when the windows just seemed to be on the verge of cracking. Harry then blew his fifteen candles and, not knowing what to wish for, simply wished that the coming year would go fine for him. (Which wasn't very likely.) Before he could get hold of the bread knife to cut the cake, though, Moody was already fighting to make sure that the cake was safe. It turned out to be just like any other cake, with no tricks in it whatsoever, but by the time Moody had finished his spot-check, the cake was no longer fit to for any human being to eat. Hedwig happily nibbled on the smushed remains of the chocolate cake while Mrs Figg kept glaring daggers at Moody. Moody glanced shiftily at the wall.

In the end, Harry helped Mrs Figg to bake chocolate cupcakes so they could have something sweet on his birthday. Moody insisted on checking the ingredients, but one glare from Mrs Figg made him relent. She insisted that Moody had ruined the whole day, but Harry reassured them both that he was having a magnificent time.

'Really,' he persisted, looking into Mrs Figg's doubtful face. 'This is the best birthday I've ever had. Presents … a cake… well, the cake got messed up but that's besides the point. And these cupcakes aren't half that bad.' He bit into one of the chocolate cupcakes convincingly. Moody grinned, half sheepishly, half with relief. 

'Well, I suppose it doesn't matter how perfect the day is, as long as you enjoy yourself,' Mrs Figg sighed, smiling. 'And you have to admit, these cupcakes _are _rather tasty. I must bake a bit more from now on. There's something crispy in it… I can't quite tell what, but it tastes really good.'

At this, Moody spoke up. He looked proud, as though he had accomplished something other than falsely accusing innocent bystanders. 'I, um, added broken eggshells while you weren't looking,' he smiled toothily. 'Nothing like eggshells to bring out the taste of chocolate. My grandmother always used those as a secret ingredient, and she's the best baker I know. Tasty, ain't it? Ain't it?' He looked expectantly at the other two, but both Mrs Figg and Harry were already desperately trying to choke out the half-chewed cupcake in their mouths, a look of utter disgust on their faces.

~***~

It was well halfway into the hot afternoon. Mrs Figg had spent the last two hours in the bathroom, trying her best to vomit out the bits of eggshells stuck in her throat. Harry had tried to do the same thing, but after a few minutes, he felt even sicker than before, and reluctantly let the mush slide down his throat. Moody had finished the rest of the cupcakes without the slightest sign of sickness coming over him. 

            At about four, Moody said that he had to go to the Ministry for an "urgent business". The house seemed suspiciously quiet and empty after he left. 

            There was nothing much to do, so Harry sullenly turned on the television and watched a very boring Muggle news report. About the boring stock market.

            'Hey, Harry,' said a voice that he recognised to be Mrs Figg's. (Who else could it be, she was the only other person in the house.) 'Now that Moody's gone… I have something to show you.'

            He looked up, and saw Mrs Figg walking towards the couch. She looked rather pale, but otherwise completely fine. She beckoned him to follow her. Obediently, he switched off the television and followed her to the stairway.

            But she wasn't going upstairs. Instead, she walked towards the little store cupboard under the stairs, and Harry felt himself twitch. _I must be dreaming,_ he thought. _This can't be_. No, he was being ridiculous. Mrs Figg wouldn't put him in the cupboard. The whole idea was simply incredulous. For some reason, Uncle Vernon's porky face suddenly seemed to materialise in front of him, and he felt a shudder creep up his spine.

            'Why are you looking so darn terrified?' she asked him, looking genuinely confused. 'What's wrong? All I want to do is show you this.'

            She opened the cupboard door, with much difficulty and a lot of creaking, and Harry felt himself thrown back because of the brightness of the daylight suddenly shining through the opening. _What's going on?_ The cupboard doorway was like a window – a window that let him see the world outside. He had seen a lot of magical things, but never one so peculiar.

            People. He saw people – in different-coloured cloaks and hats. Some were carrying broomsticks, some what looked like wands… And shops. Little stores that crowded the sides of the walkway. 

            Harry looked in wonder from the view, to Mrs Figg, and back to the walkway again, his mouth dropped open. 

            'Yes, Harry,' Mrs Figg grinned, 'you're looking at the street of Diagon Alley.'


End file.
